Epiphany

“May I share the bench with you?”

It was a young woman pushing a stroller with a sleeping baby. “Of course,” I answered, smiling, and waved my hand at the empty space.  She nodded at me, her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses blocking much of her face.  She sat down carefully, brushing leaves off the bench first and took out her phone. The international “I’d rather not talk” signal. Which was fine; I wasn’t lonely. We were in Flood Park, near my home, in a back corner surrounded by redwood trees. I often lean my bike against one of the trees and sit on my favorite bench, listening to music or reading a book. It’s usually enough for me to feel the shade of a few redwoods to find peace, even if it’s just half an hour.

Peace had been elusive that morning, though. I was having one of what my husband calls my  “sad days”. One of those days when your chest feels inexplicably heavy, like it’s weighing down relentlessly on your stomach.

I do not understand this melancholy.

I am grateful. Recently retired, in my own home, two successful grown children, a long marriage, good friends. And there it is… the missing piece is that nothing is missing.

No struggles, no workday challenges in the classroom, no sacred moments of success to round out the harrowing moments of failure, no goals, no purpose, no value.

I watched sun rays filter down through the tree branches, until one ray of light fell on the hand of the sleeping baby. Gently curved, with delicate tiny pink fingernails. And the wrist – oh the beauty of it! – not a wrist at all, but a crease in the skin between two chubby layers of fat.

The heartbreaking perfection of it brought back the infancy of my own children. How I’d loved them over the moon, and pulled them close to sniff their smell, and been moved to tears by watching them sleep.

And it was enough.

The purpose of a good life is not just to do more, to accomplish more, to earn respect.

The purpose of a good live is to feel that much love, and to know it is all worth it. My chest lighter,  I headed home.